


Fix You

by hopeisnear



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Octavia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, F/F, Omega Raven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeisnear/pseuds/hopeisnear
Summary: Octavia changes after Lincoln is murdered. Raven wants to help. Things get complicated in the process. Alpha Octavia/Omega Raven.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored and this happened. I don't know much about alpha/omega dynamics so I did the best that I could. lol I've never written smut before so there isn't any in this, I didn't really know how to go there lol but anyway.. Let me know what you think! Kudos! Comment! Enjoy! :) (Raven is written in 2nd person and Octavia is 3rd, sorry if that throws you off)  
> My tumblr : hopeisnear256

You find yourself watching her, more often than not.

She’s become a fiery ball of silent brooding and pent up anger – ready to explode on anyone who dares to get in her path.

She’s merciless now. Living to destroy. That’s her new purpose. That’s what keeps the blood flowing through her veins. It keeps her upright and coherent, away from the thoughts of her slain mate – and the burning sensation left in the crook of the left side of her neck.

It keeps her alert at night – climbing the tops of trees, keeping watch over her people. Never letting herself sleep, never letting herself see his eyes in her nightmares.

Her blade has slashed through the flesh of many Grounders since you reached the ground – spilling blood and watching their eyes cloud over with death without even blinking an eye.

Every since Pike put a bullet through Lincoln’s temple, she’s become a ghost.

You never took the time to think about mating once you reached the ground. It was a luxury you felt you no longer had the time nor the security to have.

The 100 ran out of suppressants long before you made it here. Since then you always opted to ride out the agonizing days of your heat far away from Arkadia - locked in a bunker wriggling in pain until your body stops sweating and your belly untwists itself.

It was terrifying – the first heat without suppressants to dull the near painful arousal that racked your body with neck breaking convulsions. The desperation of wanting to seek out an alpha to knot you. But there was never an alpha that you _desperately_ wanted, no matter what your biology told you.

And the feeling of wanting something but not knowing _what_ exactly that is, makes it even more agonizing.

Besides, there were bigger issues at stake, staying alive and keeping the people that you care about alive became your number one priority the moment you landed in your makeshift drop ship.

You failed with Finn. But it won’t happen again.

He was your best friend – your family. And when you plummeted from the Ark only to smell the scent of Clarke embedded in his shirt, you couldn’t even find it in yourself to hate him. He was family after all.

And when Clarke took a knife through his chest, you screamed and yelled for the loss of your family, friend – someone who’d been there for you when your own mother cast you out.

Losing him ignited a fire in you, to keep fighting – to keep yourself and the people of what’s left of the Ark safe.

It’s something you and her have in common now.

Lexa made Skaikru the thirteenth clan, and now there wasn’t much to do besides keep the peace. Murdering the Mountain Men was a hard pill to swallow for all of you.

(Having a drill rammed into the bone of your leg left a sour taste in your mouth. It dampened your sympathy for their soldiers, but the thought of innocent women and children burning to death did make your heart twinge a little.)

But Octavia, she was now left to walk around with a mating scar on her neck and a hole in her heart.

And you can’t _imagine_ how it feels.

You watch her scrub her sword in the basin just outside of Alpha Station. She grips the metal tight – agitation rolling off her in waves. Scrubbing the metal clean, and continuing even after it’s spotless just to keep her hands busy. You decide she must be close to her rut, maybe two weeks out.

You smell her from where you stand – a musky, but sweet aroma.

You don’t interact much, but you notice the edge she gets whenever she’s near it. Her retorts and voice have more of a bite to it than usual – an act that warms your cheeks and lower abdomen, even when you’re not in heat.

You think it’s kind of dangerous, the effect she has on you without realizing it – without trying to. She doesn’t really acknowledge you. She doesn’t really acknowledge anyone anymore.

She hunts, she kills, she eats. It’s a cycle that no one really wants – or cares – to break. But there’s something about her that makes you want to. You remember the light that once took residence in those green eyes. You remember what her smile looks like underneath all of the Grounder war paint.

You know she’ll never be the person that she was. Not with Lincoln gone. But you want to know her. You want to know what’s underneath the hardened shell that she’s created for herself.

“I think it’s clean now, Pocahontas.” You joke lightly, sidling up to the basin beside her to wash your hands of grease and oil.

She jumps slightly, metal clanging against the side of the basin. But the sword still remains tightly in hand. She doesn’t look up, but you see her shoulders droop in recognition of your voice. She remains quiet.

“Well aren’t you such a morning person?” You jibe, cleaning the grit from beneath your fingernails.

“Don’t you have some engines or something to fix?”

Her voice is hard and gravely from disuse. It makes you wonder when’s the last time she had a legitimate conversation with someone aside from talking strategies with Clarke and Lexa.

“Ten steps ahead of you, Lady Grounder. Just got done fixing three rover engines.” You take your, now clean, hands out of the basin and shake them – then wipe them on your thighs, just above your brace. You turn towards her and cross your arms, leaning against the basin.

You watch her continue to scrub the thoroughly clean sword. You take in the braids in her hair and the paint on her face. The dark rings under her eyes from insomnia prickles at your skin. And she has a cut on her right cheek that makes the omega in you want to reach out and fix it.

And you do. Reach out that is.

“How’d that happen?” You ask with barely concealed concern.

“Why do you care?” She snaps, pulling away from you and sheathing her sword.

That stings.

You let your hand drop back to your side and instinctively take a small step back from the alpha – cringing at her tone like a wounded puppy. Sometimes you hate being an omega. You hate the way your body reacts to her before your mind can agree – as if your mind has a say in your biology at all.

She sees your reaction and sighs – pressing her fingers to her cheek where the cut is.

“Sorry.” She says, softer this time. “I just– … sorry.” She pauses and bites her lip, frowning at the ground between you.

“There was this bird. I was trying to fish and it just…” She flailed her arms around trying to explain how the bird pecked this cut on to her face.

You snort before you can stop yourself.

“A bird got the jump on you?” You lift an eyebrow.

“It was a big bird.” She deadpans with a frown on her face. Eyes serious, pride a little hurt.

“Right.” You draw out, saving the alpha from further embarrassment. “You should get that cleaned up.” You offer, not liking the sight of the dried blood underneath the cut.

You wonder where this concern came from all of a sudden. You cared about Finn, but never enough to obsess over every cut or minor injury he sustained over the years. You’ve been off suppressants for months now, and you’ve never met an alpha that makes you want to care.

It’s different.

(And it’s scary.)

She looks at you then. Like, _really_ looks at you, as if she’s seeing you for the first time in a long time. Her nostrils flare as she sucks in a breath – clutching the grip of her sword – and her face hardens again. She looks away distantly, towards the entrance of the camp.

“Yeah. Maybe I should.”

She looks back to you, eyes now a dark green. (Maybe she’s closer to her rut than you originally thought.) She stiffly turns away.

And you watch her.

You watch her move in the opposite direction of the medical bay, out the gates, and into the woods.

 

* * *

   
You growl against the scratchy fabric of the blankets over you. Your hand takes it’s hundredth trek underneath the covers to massage the joints of your left knee. It always gets like this in the middle of the night – stiff and achy.

You groan as you shift your legs to the floor beside your bed, rubbing the balls of your hands against your grainy eyes. Tiredness itches at the back of your eyelids but you know you won’t be getting any sleep tonight until you walk the stiffness out of your leg.

You try not to be bitter whenever you think about the uselessness of your left leg.

(And yet you always fail horribly.)

You slide on the pants thrown haphazardly on the end of your bed, and grit your teeth in agitation as you grab the metal brace leaning slightly against the side of your bed. Sliding it up past your knee, you strap it into to place.

With a sigh, you slowly get up and grab your jacket and throw it on, undoing your ponytail and raking your hands through brown tresses. Then, you make your way to the door.

On nights like these you always find yourself in places you’ve never seen in the daylight. And as you slip through the barrier of camp, you limply make your way to the lake you’ve become so accustomed to.

Walking through the woods, careful not to trip on any fallen branches or rocks, there’s a slight chill in the night air that makes the hair on your arms rise but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. You’re glad you thought to bring a jacket anyway.

You reach the lake in no time, and find the familiar patch of grass near the water to sit down on.

The lake shimmers underneath the stars, moonlight, and fluorescent butterflies that fly overhead. This is what you love most about coming here. It’s calming – takes your mind off all of the shit that you have to live with.

There’s a warmth to your skin now that you know means you won’t have long until you go into heat. You’ve been so focused on fixing the solar panels on the rovers that you haven’t took the time to prepare.

That would explain Wick’s excessive hovering the last few days.

You know that you’re different from most omegas. Any other omega would salivate at the thought of an alpha, any alpha, knotting them. But there was something different within you that was repulsed at the thought of just _anyone_ taking you.

You’re picky, so to speak.

It comes few and far in between for omegas and alphas alike, but it’s something about you that you’ve never been able to change. You have urges, most definitely. But you’re more than content with riding it out alone – working your fingers over time, only to never find release.  
  
You smell her before you hear her.

Branches rustle behind you, but you don’t tense up – waiting for her to make her presence known.

And she does.

“You really shouldn’t be out here alone.” Octavia tells you.

“So what are you? A ghost? Because I see two people here.” You quip. You actually don’t even see her, you never turn around – only continue to gaze at the bright butterflies in front of you.

You see her settle in the space next to you out of the corner of your eye. She lays her sword to her right, and brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Her face is clear of war paint, only with smudges of mud here and there. You eye the scar on her neck subtly.

Her scent is stronger now, a mixture of hardwood and lavender. It engulfs you and you have to stop breathing for five seconds.

You let out the breath you were holding, then begin to take small sips.

(You choose to ignore the sudden sensitivity of your nipples and the small bead of sweat on your left brow.)

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You asked a question?” You ask playfully. Technically she didn’t, but you know the alpha wants to know why you’re out here.

She huffs slightly in exasperation and you chuckle until it dies when you realize why you really are out here.

“My leg. It’s-…” You let out a hard sigh and rush out, “Sometimes it’s hard to sleep.”

Your lips are pressed into a hard line, and now you’re glaring daggers at your left knee on downward, cursing the bullet Abby took out of your spine.

More specifically – John Murphy for putting it there.

“I’m sorry.” Octavia says with a frown on her face, looking down at her knees. (Apologizing, always apologizing.)

“No sweat. You didn’t shoot me.” You shrug it off. Not wanting the alpha to beat herself up over something she had no control over.

“So why are you out prowling the woods at night, Lady Grounder?” You change the subject.

She shrugs the same as you.

“When do I ever sleep?” She says tiredly.

You turn your head to really look at her. Braids freshly done. The bags underneath her eyes more prominent. It turns your stomach to see how utterly exhausted she is. And something akin to frustration stirs within you at her disregard for her health.

“Well that can’t be healthy.” You voice your thoughts.

“You’re close to your heat. Why are you still in Arkadia?” It was Octavia’s turn to change the subject, nostrils flaring at the sweet smell of your pheromones to prove her point. Your skin prickles at her acknowledgement of your current state.

“Got sidetracked with work.” Your fingers grip the grass underneath them behind you as you lay back.

“That’s not very smart.” Octavia’s voice is hard, and it makes you tremble – bowing your head subconsciously at her tone of voice.

She sighs again, almost as if she hates the effect she has on you.

“I’m sorry.” There it is again.

“Why do you apologize so much?” You ask with a quirk of your head.

Every alpha that you know does not apologize for what they say or do as much as Octavia has. It’s strange, you think. You admire her restraint. She’s definitely closer to her rut than she was at the basin last week, and aside from her obviously smelling how close you are to your heat, she’s totally in control.

You wonder if she’s so respectable during her actual rut, or does she give in to the animalistic desires within.

Losing a mate may leave a scar both physically and emotionally, but she was still an alpha after all.

“I don’t mean to make you… uncomfortable.” She manages.

“I’m not.” You reassure her. “Just the way nature is designed.”

She looks at you. The same way she did at the basin, as if she’s looking into your soul. And you stare back, wondering what exactly is she looking for.

She must have found it. Because the next thing you know, her eyes have darkened and the musk she finally stops holding back leaves you a little dizzy.

It leaves you breathless. And you realize that this – this – is what you couldn’t put your finger on. She smells absolutely _wonderful_ and your underwear is sticking to you now – loins aching.

“Still not uncomfortable?” She asks. Octavia’s jaw tenses and she’s frowning as if she knows it’s too much for you to handle.

You sit up straight and shake her head to straighten out your thoughts. (Right now it’s just a mantra of _submit, submit, submit._ ) This has never happened before, so you’re determined to stat coherent.

“I’m fine.” You strain out.

It’s laughable really, trying to keep your composure. When it feels like she’s everywhere. It’s like you’re breathing her essence into your lungs and god damn it, you want more.

“Are you really?” She leans in closer to you, eyes dark and hungry. There was a tether that broke within her, you can see it. Now she’s a predator hunting her prey.

“Yes.” You whimper, falling back to the heels of your hands behind you, showing your neck in submission.

Her nose finds purchase at your collarbone and she inhales deeply, letting out a throaty moan at your smell. She trails it all the way up the muscles of your neck to your ear – with you panting desperately beneath her.

She pulls away and looks you square in the eyes. (They’re black now.) A growl starts low in her chest, and then her lips are on yours. Lips and teeth, pulling and sucking against you – claiming your mouth as hers.

It left you breathless. You lay fully on your back as you grip the base of her neck to bring her in closer. Her mouth is _everywhere_ – your mouth, your lips, your cheek, your ear. It’s like she’s trying to claim your whole face.

Her mouth slides down to the left side of your neck, sucking the glands there and making you purr in want and anticipation.

She laps at your neck like it’s her last supper, peppering kisses along your chest and collarbone at the top of your shirt. You gasp and thrash beneath her, a moaning mess.

There’s a bulge pressing into your center where her hips meet yours from between your legs, and you grind against it desperately, seeking relief.

Her mouth finds yours again and she slides her tongue in your mouth, rubbing long strokes against your tongue, making you moan and grip her neck.

And then she pulls away.

Her eyes are black, but clearer than before.

“I have to go.” She grits out between clenched teeth. And in a flash, she’s off of you and disappears in the trees.

You’re still laying flat on your back, with a palm to your forehead and breathing heavily – trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

And when your skin doesn’t stop stinging, your nipples chafe against your shirt with every breath, and your clit twitches with every move, it hits you.

You’re in heat – a week early, with no clothes or food. You can’t go back to camp without risking being attacked by any unmated alpha within the walls.

And then something else hits you.

That bulge you felt shouldn’t have been there yet. Octavia’s in her rut – a week early too.

_Fucking hell._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, now it's growing wings of it's own and going a completely different direction lololol I might need to change the summary soon. But anyway! Chapter 2! Kudos! Comment! Let me know what you think! :)

She’s been avoiding you.

Since that night by the lake, and that kiss that kick started your heat and her rut a week earlier than it should have – she’s been nothing but quick glances and quick exits whenever you enter the room.

(And it’s slowly but surely frustrating you.)

Clarke managed to acquire some food and clothes for you. You ended up cooped up inside of your bunker for a week – fingers deep inside of you – with the image of green eyes, the smell of hardwood, and the feeling of her lips on your neck bringing you to the verge of tears because you just couldn’t find any _relief_.

It was agony, really.

And you know you shouldn’t push her, so you give her the space she needs and you let her avoid you.

But honestly you’re just really, really confused. Partly because you’ve never been kissed into an early heat. And mostly because Octavia Blake _kissed_ you – and now she’s avoiding you.

And the fact that Wick has been more annoying and persistent than usual is really making you more irritable than you are on even your worst days.

“You know, the brace that I made for your leg would be a lot more comfortable for you than that metal one if you’d just give it a try.”

There was a small space between your tray and his – but not nearly enough – as you slide the plastic down the metal bars while you pick out what food you want, eyes scanning the different fruit in front of you.

“If I wanted your expertise, I would have asked for it Wick. Drop it.”

You let the apple that you picked up fall to your tray with the rest of your food a little harder than necessary, spinning on your heel to find a seat in the cafeteria. Wick trailing after you like a stray dog only to plop down in front of you, throwing a piece of deer meat between his teeth and chewing.

“I’m just saying. Why won’t you let me help you?”

You let out a sigh and place the tips of your fingers to your forehead, massaging, already feeling a headache coming on.

You really don’t know what else there is you can do to let him know you’re not interested, and yet he still follows you around, coming up with different unsolicited inventions to try to make your leg situation easier.

It should enamor you, how thoughtful he is. It should make your heart swell and your cheeks blush.

(Like you used to feel with Finn. Like when he tried to make you feel better about failing your zero G physical on the Ark by stealing a spacesuit and letting you spacewalk – and subsequently taking the fall for it when you got caught.)

But it doesn’t. And you wish he’d catch a hint and leave you alone.

“I’m good.” You say simply, taking a bite of your apple and letting your eyes roam the cafeteria.

Your eyes catch green, in the far corner of the room. She’s staring at you – more specifically Wick – and you’re fairly certain she might be growling if the scowl etched onto her face is anything to go by.

You hear Wick grumbling in front of you, but you’re not really paying attention to what he says – more curious to the reaction taking place before you. She doesn’t see you looking at her – face bunched up in confusion – she’s more focused on glaring holes into the back of Wick’s head.

She still looks tired, more so than she did at the lake. You wonder has she gotten any sleep since her rut. You wonder if she suffered as much as you did. And then jealously stabs at the center of your chest – you wonder who she chose to satiate her needs.

Green meets brown and her scowl drops, but her face remains hard. She looks.. pained, for a fraction of a second. Her lower lip getting trapped between her teeth, as if she’s battling a decision within her.

And then she’s gone.

And you deflate a little, deciding that she’ll come around when she’s ready.

 

* * *

  
After yet another week of her eluding you, growing irritation wins out over patience. So, naturally, you corner her in the bathroom after dinner.

You feel the door slip shut behind you, and you see her shoulders tense as she continues to wash her hands in the sink.

“So you’re gonna avoid me forever?”

You stare at the back of her head, waiting for her to say something as she turns the water off. But she only grips the edge of the sink and lowers her head in response, neck muscles tight under her ponytail.

A flare of anger surges through you at her lack of response and you take a step forward – voice hard, eyes piercing.

“Wow.” You scoff. “You don’t even have the decency to face me?”

Silence.

“Answer me!”

Your back is against the door before you can blink, and the next thing you know, you’re staring into black eyes and barred teeth. You gasp in arousal – and a little bit of fear – at the color of her eyes, and the aggression and _desire_ rolling off of her in waves.

“ _Shut up_.” She spits out in Trigedasleng.

“Can’t you see what.. – what you’re _doing_ to me.” She grits out between clenched teeth, eyes blinking rapidly to clear them but failing.

“I- ..” You begin, only to be cut off with a roar.

“ _Shut up!_ ” She grips your hips tightly as she nudges your legs open with her knee. She hooks her hand under your limp left knee and hikes it up on her waist as she presses her center to yours. You gasp at the bulge that presses into your clit. And you moan. Loudly.

“Do you _feel_ that?” She asks, eyes wild. Her forehead leans against yours as they bore into you; watching you, making sure you understand what she’s saying. And you realize in this moment that this is a very different girl than the one in the forest apologizing every time you flinched at the tone of her voice.

“My rut was over a week ago. But, anytime I even _smell_ you, I pop a fucking knot.” She growls, disgusted with herself at not being in control. At not being able to control this.. _animal_ inside of her.

“Why can’t I- why can’t I stop _thinking_ about you?” She whines. Her head falls to the crook of your neck, groaning as she pushes her hips against yours in rhythm – grinding into you against the door.

Your hands splay through the hairs of the back of her ponytail – breathing raggedly as her nose glides up and down your neck and her center meets yours in time. Her head pulls back abruptly from your neck and she narrows her eyes.

“Are you fucking Wick?” She accuses. You know it’s something she’s been dwelling on – the look of concealed hurt and jealousy in her eyes.

“No, I’m no-” You’re cut off again by the alpha, and letting out another loud moan in the process as her thrusts get a little harder. Your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Is that how you made it through your heat?” Her eyes flash dangerously, a low growl emitting from her chest.

You shake your head vigorously, trying to convey to her that _no_ , you’ve never had sex with Wick – you’re not _having_ sex with Wick. (You actually _really_ want to have sex with _her_ right now.) Before you can try – and fail – to get out your response, she’s grabbed your right leg and put it on her waist as well, before carrying you over to the sink and placing you on the counter.

“ _Mine_.” She whispers in Trigedasleng against the skin of your neck, but you don’t understand what she’s saying. You never took the same time and interest to understand the language like she has. Like she did for Lincoln. Like Clarke has for Lexa. But before you can process anything, her lips have latched on to the left side of your neck – sucking _hard_.

You keen and thrash underneath her tongue, clit twitching in your underwear – your nails scratching at the back of her neck, pulling her closer. She bites into the flesh of your throat as she takes it into her mouth like a vacuum.

And you’re a hundred percent certain that there will be a hickey the size of a golfball and the color of a grape by the time she’s through. It’s a mixture of pain and undeniable pleasure, and it’s driving you insane.

Your skin is on fire, and she’s thrusting _right there,_ right where you need her to be – her tongue, her fingers, her _dick_ (or all of the above).

She releases your skin with a pop and leans back, admiring her work. Her eyes dull from their crazed frenzy at the sight of your marked neck, and in a flash she’s disappeared from between your legs - with her back against the wall by the time you open your eyes, chest heaving.

She takes in long gulps of air, as if she’s drowning.

And her eyes hold so much fear that it kind of scares you. You don’t want her to be afraid. And then it hits you that maybe she’s afraid of what she’ll do to you. (Not that you’ll mind.)

“Octavia..” You struggle to catch your breath. “It’s okay. _I’m_ okay.. We’re okay.” You reiterate slowly, not wanting to scare her off.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t know why I did that.” Her voice comes out strained, and you know it’s taking all of her willpower to stay in place against the door.

You just want her to not look so much like a caged animal, backed into a corner and ready to flee.

Her eyes are back dark green, an emerald color flickering in the dull light overhead. Her hand is on the door knob and your arm reaches out before you can stop yourself.

“Wait- don’t leave.” You ask helplessly.

You can’t take another week of her avoiding you. As much as you don’t want to admit it, it _hurts_ – her running away from you. And you don’t know why. You just want to talk to her. About whatever this is. Because you’re sure that it isn’t normal.

“Can we talk about this?” You plead.

Her grip on the door tightens and you wince, stomach dropping at the sight of her desperation to get away from you. You know your eyes are glistening with frustrated tears, and it _annoys_ you.

And it also kind of (really) hurts. Eats at you in a way that Finn choosing Clarke over you never did. Like when your own mother used to steal your rations to compensate her own alcohol problem, leaving you to fend for yourself.

(The feeling of not being good enough – not being _wanted_.)

It’s white, hot burning rejection that spreads through your chest and through your veins – leaving you to only shrink into yourself, legs dangling over the counter uselessly.

“Okay. Just go then.” It’s quiet, and so small that you don’t even sound like yourself – more like a child than anything.

Your eyes are downcast, face hard and a crease between your brows, and a tear slips through the cracks of your eyelids unbidden and lands on the denim of your jeans.

There’s a low whine that comes from the girl in front of you that makes you look up. You gasp. Her eyes are black again, and her fingernails are digging grooves into the door behind her. She looks pained again, and you stare in awe at the conflict in her eyes.

“Don’t… _cry_.” She says, softly. As if it hurts her to see you like this.

But you just sit there, staring at the alpha with silent tears staining your cheeks – confused at what’s happening to her, to _you_. She sighs, and she looks about as much in control as she’s going to get tonight.

“We can talk.” Your heart beat quickens with anticipation. “Meet me at the lake. 20 minutes.”

Then she’s gone (again). And it takes you a minute to get down from the counter and clean yourself up. You make a mental note to talk to Abby about this, you’re sure she’ll know what the hell is going on.

But for now, you need to talk to Octavia. You need her to not _avoid_ you. Because even though neither of you know what’s happening, staying away from each other only seems to make it worse.

So, you splash your face with cold water, and head for the door.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody know what's happening here? (I sure as hell don't just yet but I'll figure it out) lol PM me with ideas on how this story should play out, I have terrible writers block sometimes. Nevertheless, let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter. Let me know what you think :)

She isn’t at the lake when you make it there.

So you sit down on the same patch of grass as before and bring your knees to your chest – and you wait for her.

You gaze at the tiny balls of fire that adorn the sky and imagine yourself among them. You remember what it’s like to be weightless, floating through space without the weight of life or death weighing on your shoulders. You had a rough relationship with your mother, but you won’t say that you had it tough in all aspects on the Ark.

You were smart. And being smart held many rewards in a place with so many people but limited resources. As much as you hate to admit it, being useful kept you alive.

You always _had_ to bring something to the table to be deemed useful. Except with Finn. He loved you for the person that you were, and was innocently _good_. You remember the nights when your stomach would metaphorically touch your back, and he’d knock so softly on your door and sneak you out to share his food with you.

It was the first time you felt something more than being _useful_. You felt appreciated for simply being you.

And when you think about Octavia – the girl who grew up under the floorboards, the girl who shouldn’t have even been born – you wonder if Lincoln was the first person to appreciate her. And honestly.. you’re grateful for him. You’re grateful he was able to be that for her. To show her that her life is valuable.

You think back to the time that you tortured him, and how he only broke when those green eyes pierced his. And you understand him now.

Something about those eyes break through all of your walls the same way.

There’s a shadow in your peripheral that makes you jump. You look up to see her standing a good distance away from you, looking out to the trees on the other side of the lake, mind swarmed with thoughts you wish you were privy to.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

And this isn’t the same girl who jumped you in the bathroom earlier. Her eyes are clear and bright green, and her hands are resting in her pockets. She speaks softly, face bear, and her hair is down now, flowing in the night breeze – her scent coating the lining of your lungs, and she just smells _sweet_.

She looks like the girl who was amazed by the sky and the smell of earth. But there’s so much more swimming within her eyes – experiences and memories and losses, who turned that girl into a hardened woman.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

She releases a breath mixed with a dry, humorless laugh as she stares at nothing in particular.

“You’re asking me if I’m okay? When I basically sexually assaulted you?”

It’s self-depreciating in the most horrible of ways. But you kind of understand her point. If it were Jasper, Monty, or (Jesus..) _Wick_ who tried to jump your bones, would you be as calm or collected? Would you be angry? Aghast and disgusted? _Absolutely_.

But the fact of the matter is, it wasn’t any of them – it was Octavia. And for some strange reason, you can’t find it in yourself to be upset with that. If anything, you _liked_ it.

(But why is that?)

And why was she standing so far away?

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“I’m fine.” She says. “I think it’d be better if I.. kept my distance. Until we figure out what this is.” The alpha sounds resigned as she looks you in the eyes now.

“Do I not get a say in this?” You grind out indignantly, fingers digging into the muscles of your calves. The Raven Reyes fire deep within you flaring at her attempt to stay away from you. Her eyes flash with something you can’t pinpoint – anger? arousal? desperation?

“No. You don’t.” She says simply.

You rise to your feet as swiftly as you can manage with your brace, and your eyes turn to slits.

“Why?” You insist, taking a step towards her, as she takes a step of her own in the opposite direction.

“Why can’t you just act like a fucking adult and _talk_ to me?” Your voice gets louder by the time you’re done and she’s barring her teeth at you now, backing up to put more space between you.

“Because I can’t _control_ myself around you!” She hisses, making you come up short. “And I don’t know _why_.” She ends quietly, eyes falling to her feet, glaring in disgust.

You blink. Thinking back to the words she said in the bathroom against the column of your neck that completely went over your head in your cloud of lust.

_Why can’t I stop thinking about you?_

_Every time I smell you, I pop a fucking knot_.

You think of her black eyes and low growls, and you wonder what changed. What changed to make her react to you this way.

“We can talk to Abby. See if there were situations like this on the Ark.” You supply helpfully.

You stop moving forward, not wanting her to run away in the middle of this.

“And then what, Raven?” She presses. “I can’t- I can’t do this.” She says, more to herself than anything. She turns her back on you and walks further away.

(And your heart rips in two.)

“What are you so afraid of?” You know you’re hitting below the belt. Octavia kom Skaikru isn’t afraid of anything, not anymore. And she growls as she whips around to face you.

“I just lost a _mate_ , Raven!”

She stalks forward eyes blazing, but the pain underneath is evident to you.

“Finn wasn’t your mate. You wouldn’t _understand_ how I felt. You don’t know how I _still_ feel. And I can’t do this. Not again.”

You draw back as if her words burn.

“Fine.” You throw your hands up in annoyance – and anguish. Because she’s absolutely right. No matter what kind of attraction is playing out, she still hasn’t healed. You should be understanding. You should give her what she wants – what she needs. (But that doesn’t make it easier.) “Run. Go right ahead. Not like I care.”

You turn on your heels and head for the woods, stepping over branches and fallen logs with a huff to get back to Arkadia – tears prickling at the back of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

You trip and the leaves crunch under your hands at the impact. You punch the ground in frustration. Frustration at yourself for being so emotional. So emotional to a _friend_. (She doesn’t feel like just a friend anymore.) You let a kiss ruin that. You should have kept your distance, and let her battle her demons the way she saw fit.

As much as you want to know the person beneath all the pain, you can’t force her. Maybe it’s not worth it like you once thought.

* * *

The weather finally let up after days of non stop rainfall.

Clarke put together a convoy to go help one of the surrounding villages. It had rained so much that they now needed help building trenches around their village to keep their crops from getting too much water.

Jasper sits across from you in the back of the rover, playfully flicking an array of nuts in your direction. You give him a lopsided smile and throw a couple of your own back.

“You’re all children.” Clarke deadpans next to you. The glint in her eyes tells you that despite her words she rather enjoys the calm and fun since Mount Weather.

Jasper had a rough time for a long time afterwards, but you and Monty put in as much time as you could to bring his spirits back up. You’re close now. All three of you.

And it feels good.

“Speaking of children, when are you gonna let the mighty Commander knock you up with some?” You waggle your eyebrows.

Clarke’s face goes red as she gives you a shove. She and Lexa have been.. dating for as long as you can remember being on the ground. Clarke still chooses to live among her people in Arkadia rather than stay with Lexa in Polis.

But you know once she bears the mating mark on her neck, she won’t have much of a choice. You always kind of wonder what they’re waiting on.

“Not… anytime soon.” She coughs. “There are much more important things we all need to be focused on.”

“Right.” You drag out. “Like making sure our food doesn’t drown from the rain.” You say, rolling your eyes.

“Exactly.”

Monty hits a bump rather hard that has Bellamy in the front spewing curse words and you grimacing and gripping your leg in pain.

“You okay there?” Jasper asks.

“I’m fine.” You suck your teeth and massage the joints under the brace.

“You should probably have my mom look at that when we get back.” Clarke offers.

“It’s just the rain.” You say quickly. “It always gets… achy, after it rains a lot.”

You massage your muscles slowly, willing the knots to subside. Jasper’s watching you with concern in his eyes, and as you look past his head and out of the window, you see Octavia on her horse watching you.

It’s been almost two months, and you’ve kept your distance like you said you would. She’s back to her normal brooding self, and surprisingly, she hasn’t had anymore episodes of black eyes.

She keeps to herself. She makes most of these trips to different grounder villages by herself, helping in anyway she can.

Sometimes you think she’s in limbo of who she really is – not really fitting in with the people who locked her up on the Ark, and naturally doesn’t have a home within Lincoln’s people – she’s somewhere in between trying to figure it out.

There’s worry in her eyes that leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You don’t want her pity. Not when she can’t come within 10 feet of you without scurrying off as if you stink.

She must notice your look of disdain, because she clicks her heels to make the horse go faster and she’s out of your sight again, moving ahead of the rover.

You finally make it to the village and everyone clambers out. You’re here more so to get some time away from Arkadia more than you’re here to work, so you trail along silently as grounders come to meet the group and take them to where most of the digging will take place.

Jasper, Monty, and Bellamy have shovels thrown over their shoulders and they’re off in the other direction. You notice Octavia’s horse hitched to a nearby tree, but she’s nowhere in sight. Clarke’s walking beside you, matching your pace as she takes in the women and children milling about as the men get to work.

“It’s weird to think that we’ll have little ones running around camp one day.” Clarke says wistfully.

You eye her suspiciously as you tentatively step over a mud hole.

“You know I was just joking about getting pregnant right? No pressure, Griffin.”

Her cheeks tint red again and you laugh. Clarke always gets so flustered whenever it comes to Lexa.

“Oh shut it, Reyes. Don’t think no one’s noticed this fight, or whatever it is, going on between you and Octavia.”

You stumble a bit and curse. She catches the crook of your arm, eyes glinting in mirth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say lamely. You avert your eyes and focus on the little girl you both managed to walk up on in the center of the village.

“Sure you don’t.” Clarke jibes, but lets it go.

She’s about seven or eight, and runs up to you excitedly and beams, grabbing your hand and pulls you along as she talks animately in Trigedasleng. You look back helplessly at Clarke and she’s chuckling with her hands up.

“I’m gonna go see if anyone here is sick or in need of medical attention. Have fun!” She sing songs and flutters her fingers at you, and walks towards the nearest hut.

You turn back around to the little girl in front of you and will your left leg to keep up. She brings you to the front of a brown hut on the far side of the village, close to the tree line, and plops down in front of you.

“Is this your house…?” You make eye contact with an old woman sitting in front of the hut. She doesn’t smile, but her eyes are shining, which indicates yet another person who’s getting a kick out of this. You gently sit down across from her.

The little girl nods enthusiastically and proceeds to stick her hands in the mud between you. She scoops and shapes out different things – pies, castles, sometimes just letting the wet sand slide through her fingers.

You take in her brown hair, pulled back in braids much like the ones you see in Octavia’s. One of her front teeth is chipped, and she has a dimple in her right cheek. She looks up at you and smiles, and you can’t help but smile back.

“What’s your name?” You ask, your own fingers gliding through the mud.

“Ava.” She says simply, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in concentration.

“That’s a beautiful name.” You say.

You feel out a place. You never… had interactions with kids on the ground. On the Ark, you practically lived in the mech department. Never really coming into contact with kids.

“Can you speak English?”

She suddenly goes shy as her movements in the mud slow, and she lowers her head and shakes it, making a ‘so-so’ hand motion.

“It’s okay. I don’t understand much of Trigedasleng either.” You catch her eyes and make a face. She laughs.

Then her eyes brighten.

“I.. teach you?”

She points to herself, looking hopeful. You shake your head just as enthusiastically.

“Sure! I can teach you some of my language too.”

And that’s how your day goes. You’re taught different words and phrases by a seven year old. And surprisingly, you get most of it. She smiles every time you say a word correctly and her face goes stern when you say something wrong, determined to correct you. And she makes you repeat it all until you’ve gotten it right.

And you like it. The fire within her that you recognize in yourself.

In turn, you teach her the same. She learns it in about the half the time that it took you, and you vow to return for more lessons when the guys are done and Clarke comes to collect you.

When you’re almost to the rover the little girl runs to you. She hugs you tightly around your waist before you can leave, her head pressing into your stomach with her arms wrapped around you and you feel something maternal stir within you and tears form behind your eyelids.

(God, when did you become so sentimental?)

You look up towards the trees from where you just were across the village and you see a dark figure in the distance amongst them, then your eyes catch Octavia’s for the second time today.

They’re darker now you can tell and she looks at you, then down to the little girl pressed against you. Her eyes hold longing, and you wonder how long has she been watching you and the girl.

“Raven, we gotta go.”

You look over to Bellamy by the door of the rover, then back to the trees and she’s gone. The sky is purple now, and you detangle yourself from Ava and promise you’d be back.

You climb into the rover with effort, and lean back in your seat, eyes searching the forest around you as you make your way through the trees.

“She took off awhile ago.” Clarke notices your search. “She’s probably already back at camp.”

Your brow furrows because Octavia was definitely just here. How could she have…

_Oh._

So she was watching you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos? Comment? Let me know what you think :) You guys are the best!

**Author's Note:**

> Ohhh snap lol What did ya think?


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